


Scaramouch

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [218]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bohemian Rhapsody, Gen, M/M, Mycroft without a brolly, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Singing in the Rain, crack with a hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>scaramouch: noun: skar-ə-ˌmüsh, -ˌmüch, -ˌmau̇ch:<br/>a cowardly buffoon</p><p>French Scaramouche, from Italian Scaramuccia, from scaramuccia skirmish</p><p>First Known Use: 1662</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written as a chapter of Control:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6737635/chapters/15939166

"I see a little silhouetto of a man  
Scaramouch, scaramouch will you do the fandango  
Thunderbolt and lightning very very frightening me  
Gallileo, Gallileo..."

 

"Mycroft?" Lestrade yelled from his car."What are ya doin'?"

"I would've thought it was perfecktly obviouthh what I am 'doin',' as you so quaintly put it, walking and thingi- damn it. Sing-ing in the rain."

"You seem to have forgotten something."

"I never forget anything, Gra- Gregory."

"Your brolly, Myc?"

"Oopth." Mycroft looked up at the sky, then down at his ruined bespoke suit and sloshy shoes.

"Get in the car, Myc, I'll take you to my place, you can get a shower and some dry clothes, not quite the style yer accustomed to, but better than taking you to the lock-up; can't have the 'British Government' catching pneumonia, not to mention the press...sit on the towel, actually, you may want to lie down in case the paparazzi are still about."

Mycroft got in the back seat and stretched out on the towel. "Very kind, I'm thhure...

"Is this the real life?  
Is this just fantasy?  
Caught in a landslide  
No escape from reality  
Open your eyes  
Look up to the skies and see..."

"Queen, eh, never took you for a Freddie Mercury man, myself. Thought you would be more of an opera buff."

"Hmmm...no, the opera is fine, but, ah, Wembley Stadium..."

"1986...yeah. I was -"

" - there..."

"Detective Inthpector, could you pull over for just a moment?"

"Bucket on the floor. "

"Brilliant."

"Better?"

"Much. How did you, erm...know -"

"-where to find you?"

"Sherlock. Anthea had called him, somehow she had lost you, and he put the word out to his Homeless Network, one of his regulars - "

"Ir-rrregulars, more like -"

" - spotted you and got in touch with your brother, who called me."

"He never calls when he can text."

"He seemed quite concerned, actually, he knew from Anthea that you'd had a bad day, and he said the last bad day you had was when the Berlin Wall fell."

"He's overstating it, it's just that was the last day when it wasn't so hard to know who your enemies were."

"So, what happened today? Or am I allowed to know?"

"Agent died. Shouldn't have, my fault. Had a family, wife, kids...sentiment...always tell them, best not to get attached...it happened in Serbia...reminded me of when Sherlock, when I had to retrieve hi-"

"We're home. Er, my home, anyway. I know it's not up to your posh standards, but the water is hot, I have some leftover Shepherd's Pie from supper I can heat up if you feel up to it later."

Lestrade got out of the car, and opened the door for Mycroft, who slowly pushed himself upright, then with as much dignity as he could muster, launched himself out of the back seat. Lestrade subtly placed his hand on Mycroft's back as he saw the government official begin to weave a bit.

"...Didn't mean to make you cry  
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow  
Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters..."

"Inside with ya - loo is down the hall to your left. I'll put some clothes by the door. Shoes can go right by the - wait. Give me half a tic."

Lestrade pulled a chair from the kitchen and maneuvered Mycroft into it, then knelt in front of him and removed his shoes and socks.

"Lost cause, I'm afraid. Jus' sit here til you...no. Myc...damn it, I hope you will forget this tomorrow."

Mycroft had fallen asleep in the chair, completely, utterly asleep.

"Used to do this for your brother...when he would....never mind. Just glad he has John now to keep him out of that neighborhood. Why that neighborhood, Myc?" Lestrade managed to get Mycroft undressed with as little fuss as possible, then carried him over his shoulder and put him to bed.

 

Can you have Anthea send over dry clothes and shoes? - GL

That bad? Damn it, should John and I come get him? - SH

Nah, you will be the last person he wants to see tomorrow, gonna let him sleep it off here. - GL

Thank you, Greg. It could have gotten out of hand, he doesn't do this very often...only when he loses an agent, he takes the blame for every one of them, but he usually goes to his club. - SH

Agent died in Serbia - GL

Oh. Ohhh. Yeah, he's better off at your place. Will let Anthea know. Night. - SH

Night. - GL

 

The following afternoon, Mycroft blinked at the sunlight, not his bedroom, not the club. No clothes. WTF?

He sat up and tried to regain a sense of, well, anything. He took a deep breath, and he instantly regretted it. Oh. Right. You went slumming last night. Singing. Rain. Lestr- Gregory. Gregory's house. His bedroom. Damn. Not the way he had wished to see it for the first time.

He looked down and saw a hastily scrawled note:

"Had to go in, triple murder, your brother's in heaven. Food in the kitchen. Stay as long as you need. Fresh set of your clothes and shoes in bag in front of the dresser. I'd like to take you out or have take away tonight, I have a bootlegged copy of the concert, if you want to watch it with me. It's okay if you don't, just, anyway. Whatever."

 

Apologies - MH

No need - GL

I'd like to take you up on your offer what time do you get off from work - MH

Normal time, six-ish - GL

Thai? - MH

Perfect - GL

 

Lestrade grinned as he slipped his phone into his pocket. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

"A date? With Myc? Seriously?"

"Shut up." Lestrade said without any trace of rancour.

"Now, gimme what you got, so I can get out of here, yeah?"

"He's never had a goldfish before, just be careful, all right?"

"Goldfish?"

"Boyfriend, mate, friend of any kind, just let him down gently."

"Who says...?"

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in 'that' way; then shut his mouth and rattled off the solution to the case.

"Now, go home...Queen and Thai?"

"How...never mind-"

"You've been humming Bohemian Rhapsody all afternoon, and my brother adores Thai...he likes cake, and fuzzy socks, he takes his tea with a spot of milk and no sugar, Strawberry jam on his toast."

"Right. Night. Thanks."

Sherlock watched him leave and shook his head. "John, let's go home, I've been up way too long, because I could've sworn I just gave George my blessing."

"For?"

"To date Mycroft."

"Yeah. Bed for you, maybe it's that fungus you're growing, is it hallucinogenic?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue...aka First Date.

Lestrade stopped at his favourite bakery on the way home, and purchased a small red velvet cake, just in case. Bread for toast...he had strawberry jam at home already...he shouldn't presume, but...it had been years since he had been interested in anyone, and he always had an idea that Mycroft may have something close to sentiment towards himself. What the hell, what could it hurt?

 

Mycroft paced. He had taken the paracetamol that Gregory had left on the nightstand, showered, and sent Anthea a message indicating he was taking the next two days off.

Off? - A

Off, as in, do not call me, text me or bang on DI Lestrade's door for any reason. - M

Yes sir. I did send over your running clothes and shoes if the need arises. - A

Excellent. Have a night off yourself. - M

And do what, sir? - A

Go have dinner, or go see a movie - M

Sir. Is that an order, sir? - A

Yes. - M

 

Anthea sighed as she saw Mycroft's last message. Sentiment...just because he's going to finally get laid, he thinks everyone has someone to 'dinner' or 'movie' with.  
I guess I could alphabetise my record collection again.

 

Lestrade opened his front door, and took a deep breath, lemon grass, curry.... Mycroft was in his kitchen, cooking. Cooking Thai. In his kitchen in an old marathon t-shirt, baggy running shorts, and barefoot, cooking him dinner. He had to sit down before he fell over in shock.

"Ah, Gregory."

"When you said Thai...I thought you meant, uhm."

"I don't normally have time or someone to cook for, but, I thought it might be a suitable apology for any inconvenience I may have cau-"

Lestrade had walked up behind Mycroft as he was washing his hands, and gently kissed the back of his neck.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that," he whispered against Mycroft's ear.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you to do that." answered Mycroft, his breath stuttering.

"How long will dinner be?"

"I've turned everything off, the rice is cooking..."

"How long...?"

"An hour, though Thai saves well...in fact-"

Lestrade's fingers were running along his sides, "uh-huhhh?"

"Thai keeps very well overnight..."

"Does it?"

"Mmmm...hmmmm...oh."

"There? You're not ticklish are you, Myc?"

"Uhm, I don't know."

"You don't know if you're ticklish?"

"Uh-uh."

"I guess we'll find out together."

 

I'm taking a sick day, Donovan - GL

Sir. - SD

You're not going to ask. - GL

No. Sir. - SD

 

"No, Sherlock, he's not coming in today. No new cases for you. Take a day off, will you?"

Donovan put her feet up on Lestrade's desk and took a nap.

 

"Well, no new wars last night, nothing of any note today..." Sherlock muttered as he read the newest articles online. "Myc must've -"

"Don't, love. Just don't. I like Greg just fine, just can't picture your brother...and I don't want to. Try not to worry. Greg's a good guy.

"I know. I just, he's never -"

"I know, he's a grown up, remember?"

"I have the day off...you don't have a shift today..."

"Got any ideas about how we can waste some time?"

"Just a few..."

 

"Mornin' "

"Morning, yourself. Tea?"

"Mmmm..."

"Last night was - "

"Remarkable?"

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Lestrade and nuzzled his neck.

"Um-hmmm"

"Work today?"

"Nope. You?"

"Took today off, first day in, let's see, 20 years."

"For...me?"

"For me and the possibility of an 'us.' Yes."

"A run later, maybe?"

"Later. Much later."


End file.
